


Compromising

by OhMyFreddy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Universe, Frottage, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMyFreddy/pseuds/OhMyFreddy
Summary: Karasuno has been invited to yet another conference in Tokyo. Third-year Tsuki doesn’t question his own bravery when it comes to schmoozing scouts and faculty, but he is struggling to tamp down nerves tonight, at the customary mixer in the hotel’s lounge that he’s expected to attend.He and Yamaguchi have slept in the same room dozens of times, but tonight will be their first time since becoming, officially, together.Perhaps his anxiety will be for nothing, though, as Yamaguchi suddenly texts him:Tadashi: Find somewhere else to sleep.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	Compromising

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a well-groomed fic, but y'all are just here to have fun, right? Enjoy!

Tsuki’s phone vibrates inside his pocket. He knows it must have chimed, too, but there’s no way he would have been able to hear it in the crowded hotel bar. He leans against Koganegawa, seated beside him on a long, crowded sofa, to reach it, and opens the text, from Tadashi. 

**Tadashi:** _Find somewhere else to sleep._

  
  


Tsuki had last seen Tadashi about half an hour ago, when he stood on his tiptoes to tell Tsuki over the volume of the crowd that he was going upstairs, to take a long bath, and turn in. 

“How long do you think you’ll stay?” he’d asked Tsuki.

Tsuki had carefully swirled his mostly-full drink, just the soda and juice he’d been allowed, and sighed. “I’ll give it another hour. If I can’t catch Miyazaki-san by then, I’m giving up.” They both looked sidelong at the FIVB executive, currently laughing under the attention of one of the coaches from Fukurōdani. 

“I know she’ll like you,” Tadashi says, smiling up at him winningly. “I bet she already knows exactly who you are.”

“I doubt that,” Tsuki says, but stares down into his drink to try to disguise the quirk of his mouth.   
  


Tsuki stares quizzically at the message. 

What the hell does that mean? Did he… flood their room? Get locked out and panic?

He calls, plugging his other ear with his finger. 

It rings twice before going to voicemail. 

It vibrates again, with a new message. 

It’s just a photo, unaccompanied. 

A photo of Tsuki, in exactly the spot he currently sits. He frowns, because, undeniably, the photo looks… compromising. 

Tsuki, the corporeal middle blocker, is currently sitting on a sofa in a lounge surrounded by friends and acquaintances, listening and laughing, and enjoying conversation with his teammates, and players from rival teams. He’s seconds from giving up on FIVB for the evening. _He_ feels like the room is appropriately lit, for the occasion. Brighter at the bar, but pleasantly dim where guests are socializing. It’s loud, yeah, and, yeah, he’s politely not spreading out across the sofa. 

Tsuki in the photo is not what corporeal Tsuki imagined. The long line of his body is pressed tightly against Koganegawa’s. The photo is cropped in such a way that the patrons on either side of the two of them are not visible. They appear alone, squeezed together under dark purple light. 

Koganegawa’s arm is slung over the back of the sofa, his fingers draped behind Tsuki’s shoulder. Tsuki’s head is tilted toward Koganegawa’s, and the older boy is captured with his mouth at Tsuki’s ear, definitely just _speaking_ to him, but the photo magnifies only how close he leans. 

But the focus of the photo, the only reason Tsuki can see that someone would snap it, is something Tsuki doesn’t even recall _doing_. Cramped onto the sofa, shifting and craning to keep up with the conversation around him, Tsuki’s hand is shown landed upon Koganegawa’s thigh. It must have been just a moment. He’s certain he doesn’t remember the action, and he knows Koganegawa never gave any reaction, not any that Tsuki noticed. This is a touch he wouldn’t give a second thought to, not upon a colleague he’s been friends with for years. 

But all the photo shows is his hand intimately high, Koganegawa’s lips tantalizingly near, and the pair of them pressed together in sensual shadows. 

And this photo is a problem, because Tsuki and Tadashi are about 11 days past Tadashi’s confession. 

Their hotel room for this event had been booked weeks ago. Coach Ukai had cornered the pair of them on Monday, because news sure does spread fucking fast, and said to them, firmly, “I’m not going to make someone switch rooms with you. I know you two are going to behave with the same dignity as always. Is. That. Correct?”

They’d “yes, sir”-ed immediately, and all three of them looked relieved to have the conversation over with, but there was a palpable buzz between the pair of them, and while Tsuki’s delay to their room had _mostly_ been an attempt to catch a moment with the FIVB executive, he had wanted the time to calm his nerves a bit, too. Tonight is the first they will have had alone since they’d begun a week’s long escalation of making out in tight corners around campus, and heated, furtive groping in the club room. 

So much for that. 

Tsuki calls again. Three rings. Voicemail. 

He’ll be damned if he’s going to give this ridiculous _slander_ the dignity of a _this-isn’t-what-it-looks-like_ text. 

The photo is taken from an angle dead ahead, and Tsuki’s eyes flash furiously, suspiciously forward. The far, opposite sofa is occupied by a mix of familiar faces and strangers, but that wasn’t the case, earlier. 

Earlier, he’d recognized each one. All six in a bratty little row right across from him. _The kouhai_.

Predictably, each of the little shits has made his escape. 

“See you in the morning,” he mutters to Koganegawa, who brightly wishes him goodnight as he rises, seemingly entirely unaware of his shift in mood. 

Tsuki wanders behind the opposite sofa. He double checks the angle, the placement of a delicate, potted orchid confirming that the snap of Tsuki was captured at this distance, even if the lens had been zoomed for maximum incrimination. 

Hinata is reliably easy to spot, and Tsuki slides up next to him. Hinata excuses himself from his companions when Tsuki bends down to his ear. 

“Where are the first years?”

Hinata looks past him, to the same sofa opposite Koganegawa. He hums. “Not in bed, they would have said. Balcony, maybe?” he offers helpfully. His face scrunches suddenly. “Why?”

“Nothing. Thanks.”

“Seriously, Tsukishima, what now?”

“It’s _nothing._ ” He sips at his drink nonchalantly. “But if you see them,” he adds, much too darkly to dissuade Hinata’s suspicions, “tell them I’m looking for them.”

Hinata opens his mouth to argue, but an alumnus shouts his name, and Tsuki slips away. 

  
  


The first years huddle together in the cold on the broad balcony, chattering around a tiny high top, gazing bright-eyed across the admittedly spectacular Tokyo skyline. Other patrons brave the chill in similar clusters, and Tsuki weaves through them easily. 

Tsuki hasn’t been able to put his finger upon exactly why this group of brats rubs him the wrong way. Adjusting to new teammates is a struggle, always. But he is long past the length of time it took him to be at ease with their current second years, and the irritability he and these six feel toward one another just won’t ease. 

When he says, or thinks, _the kouhai_ , he never lumps in the second years. It’s just _them._

They’re average. They’re just...teenage boys. They’re good at volleyball, they’re well behaved, they’re overly loud. They’re _average._

They _love_ Tadashi. 

Tsuki can’t, or won’t, attest to ever looking at Sawamura, Sugawara, or Azumane with the big-eyed, wonderous devotion he witnessed them receive from Hinata, Tadashi, and, on occasion, Kageyama. But he sees that expression across these six faces constantly. 

They adore Tadashi-san as much as they fear Tsuki. 

They flinch satisfyingly when Tsuki looms over them out of the darkness. Twelve shining eyes snap to hushed attention. 

Tsuki doesn’t raise his voice. He never has to. “When I find out which of you tried to _snitch_ on me to your _chichi,_ you won’t know that I have. I will wait, and watch for you to find something you enjoy, some new happiness.” The little libero closest to Tsuki’s right hand is trembling. “And then I will _hurt_ that happiness. I will wait for you to taste success, and I will sour it.”

The silence is broken only by the sound of a couple of them swallowing. 

“Phones. Now.”

They all rush to produce them, no incriminating hesitation from a single one of them, and Tsuki sneers. 

“Keep them, you little pricks,” he hisses. “I know you’re too smart for that.” Too much to hope that the culprit would have kept the evidence of sending the photo to Tadashi. “Pity that you were stupid enough to try it, though.”

He leaves his drink, now only ice, on their high top, and seeks the elevator. 

Tsuki’s key card works just fine. He lowers the handle as the light turns green, and it gives, only to _thunk_ firmly against the chain lock. 

Tsuki sighs. He waits. 

“What did I fucking tell you?” comes Tadashi’s voice, low and colder than Tsuki’s ever heard it. It… sends a shiver up his spine, but he needs to focus here. 

“Tadashi, let’s talk about it. Let me in.”

“Took you long enough to wander up here,” Tadashi bites scathingly. He sounds closer to the door, but seems to make no move to touch it. Tsuki can’t see him. 

Tsuki closes his eyes. Slowly, he says, “I should have come right away. Please let me in.”

The door shuts in his face. 

Well, that’s okay. Tadashi can’t disengage the lock without closing the door first. He hears nothing, but after a few seconds, tries the card. 

_Thunk._

He sighs, again. Waits, again. 

“So why didn’t you?” Tadashi demands. 

“Tadashi, I’ll tell you everything,” Tsuki whispers, pressing up close to the gap in the door. 

He’s met with silence. 

Mercifully, no one has passed in the hallway within the few minutes he has been begging for entry, and Tsuki hopes it stays that way as he offers, “If I get down on my knees and plead with you to hear me out, inside, will you?”

There’s no answer, though Tsuki can hear a shuffle of movement right behind the door. “Okay,” he breathes out, and braces a hand against the wall to lower himself down. 

The door clicks closed. The lock clatters, and Tsuki is admitted before he can hit the floor. 

  
  


The air in the room is still thick from Tadashi’s fragrant bath. Tadashi doesn’t look at him, but Tsuki looks his fill at Tadashi’s retreating figure. He’s dressed to sleep- hair flopping into his eyes, oversized t-shirt, and tight boxer briefs that hug his thighs in a way that makes Tsuki question if he is indeed capable of not falling to his knees. 

Tsuki’s attention turns to the rest of the room as Tadashi climbs irritably onto the nearest bed. There is a miniscule bottle of prosecco in the ice bucket, and an empty one on the bedside table. Tsuki blinks at them, chancing a glance at Tadashi, surprised at his gall. Contraband candles, unlit, litter the desk and dresser. Tsuki’s luggage, earlier nestled next to Tadashi’s on one of the beds, (the other, left meaningfully bare) has been moved to sit cold on its own. Tadashi’s bags are squirreled out of sight away from them. 

Tsuki’s heart softens impossibly further toward Tadashi. He had every opportunity to dump Tsuki’s stuff in the hallway, after all.

“I’m sorry,” he says, contritely, to Tadashi’s scowl. “I wasn’t able to stop myself from confronting the little shits first.”

“So you knew it was them who caught you,” Tadashi spits. 

“I knew it was them who pretended something salacious was occurring,” Tsuki says, carefully controlling his voice. 

Tadashi stares at him, hard. 

“Can I sit?” Tsuki indicates the corner of Tadashi’s bed. Tadashi only continues to glare as Tsuki lowers himself to eye level. “It is just as loud and crowded down there as when you left. I was sitting just as close to the person on my right as I was to Kogane, and the guy on the other side of _him_ was practically in his lap. We were sitting right in the open, in front of everyone.”

Tadashi’s attention is rapt, and before Tsuki powers on, he allows Tadashi to demand, “Why were you touching him like that?”

“I didn’t realise I had. I don’t know when I did it. I know I kept trying to get comfortable. I must have elbowed him a dozen times.”

Tadashi’s gaze falls, unsure, to the duvet. Tsuki reassures, “Tadashi, aside from that I’d never linger so blatantly on someone at a work event, Kogane would never allow me to behave like that. Not when we told him this very day about us.”

Tsuki risks leaning forward, and lifting away one of Tadashi hands from where they’re clasped upon his knees. Tadashi allows it, and watches as Tsuki brings his knuckles to his lips. “ _I_ would never behave like that. Full stop. Even if no one were watching.”

Tadashi nods, but he still looks guarded. Through his tightly controlled temper, Tsuki feels a flash of irritation at the tampering little pricks. “Those kids.” Tsuki chuckles darkly. “They do not like me.”

“I’m sure whatever you said to them tonight helped _immensely_.” Tsuki is relieved to see the barest of smiles finally touch Tadashi’s features. 

“They started it,” Tsuki mutters, and rotates the hand he still holds. He grazes his teeth, careful and slow, across one of the joints of Tadashi’s middle finger. 

  
  
He thinks that Tadashi has released the last of his reservations by the way he whimpers, “Kei, _Kei,_ ” and rolls his hips to reach deeper, tighter into Tsuki’s throat. 

Tsuki allows Tadashi one of his hands to lace his fingers through, but the other he keeps to selfishly caress and squeeze Tadashi’s bare legs, to slip beneath his shirt to outline the planes of his abs, and to grip the base of his cock. He wetly smears his fist along the length of Tadashi’s shaft, letting Tadashi’s soft moans be his guide, instead of concentrating upon what he thinks he should do. 

He starts a pattern on the head with his tongue that makes Tadashi’s hips snap, and he keeps it up, until Tadashi’s fingers find his hair and he’s gasping, “I’m coming, Tsuki, I’m c-“

Tsuki replaces his tongue with his thumb, and watches, heat coiling with maddening tightness in his own belly, as Tadashi shoots in his hand, his eyes fluttering beneath sweaty wisps of hair, and his open mouth curving into a satisfied, love-drunk grin. 

Tsuki crawls above him, and the coy look Tadashi gives him from beneath his eyelashes slaps Tsuki with the desire to flip Tadashi onto his stomach, to press into him as deeply as possible, to feel and fill every inch of the body beneath him with Tsuki’s devotion. He bucks when Tadashi’s hand grips his cock, stares right back as Tadashi watches his face as he strokes up, gliding his fingertips through the precome beading at his tip, and tightly back down. 

Tsuki crushes their mouths together until he’s desperate for air. 

He dips as Tadashi works him, just can’t resist sucking a dark mark onto his collarbone. It’ll be easy to hide, except while changing in the club room, enabling Tsuki to childishly brandish _I WIN_ at the kouhai while not actually having to speak to them. 

Tadashi pants at the sting, and rolls them, before rising up. He shifts, making to crawl down Tsuki’s body, and as much as he is looking forward to that, Tsuki tightens his grip to keep him level. “I’m close, don’t stop,” he whispers. Tadashi doesn’t hesitate, and Tsuki slides their mouths back together, trying to pour enough adoration and pleasure into his kiss to completely soothe away the hurt Tadashi felt earlier in the evening. 

Tsuki moans Tadashi’s name into his mouth, spilling over his fist and gripping into his skin. 

They abandon the sticky linens for the other bed, the cool duvet blissful on their heated skin. Tadashi takes a few sips of the second bottle of prosecco, but encourages Tsuki to finish it off. The ice-cold liquid is welcome on his throat. Tadashi reaches to caress his upturned jaw, and Tsuki suspects that Tadashi’s eyes are darkened with fresh memories of their first, suitably salvaged romantic night together. 

Maybe, ever so slightly, maybe, Tsuki may feel a twinge of gratitude. He was nervous. Nervous about what Tadashi would want tonight, nervous about if he’d be skilled enough to provide, nervous about how they’d feel about each other after. 

But after the kouhai’s interference, all Tsuki feels he needs to focus upon is making sure Tadashi knows Tsuki loves him. 

  
  
In the morning, Tsuki digs through his bag for the lube he had not necessarily been prepared to use, but, well, he was going to come prepared, damnit. 

Tadashi watches eagerly as Tsuki dribbles a stripe of it onto his already straining cock. Carefully, Tsuki rocks their hips together, smearing the liquid and setting a rhythm toward pushing Tadashi over the edge. Tadashi grips his ass, bucking up against him helplessly, whispering right into Tsuki’s ear that he likes it, and biting off moans when he _really_ likes it. 

Tsuki tries to outlast him, to get him to his peak first, but the way Tadashi writhes beneath him has him shuddering, groaning, “ _Tadashi_ ,” drawing it out like a prayer. That proves to be Tadashi’s limit, however, and his hot release mixes with Tsuki’s. 

They brush their teeth, hip to hip and towel-clad. Tsuki stares in the mirror at the stark red bruise that possessively marks his boyfriend. He purrs, attempting a tone of affectionate hopelessness, “Which one of those kids tried to get me in trouble, anyway?”

Tadashi tenses beside him. From the corner of his eye, and fleetingly in the mirror, Tsuki can see him considering. 

Tsuki steps behind him, and trails kisses delicately across his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, voice muffled through lips he presses to Tadashi’s skin, carefully not clarifying whether he means that it’s okay to answer, or not to. 

“It’s,” Tadashi turns, to hover his mouth before Tsuki’s to stare, heavy-lidded, at his lips. Tsuki breathes against him, ready, for whatever he offers. “Probably best that you don’t know,” Tadashi continues lightly. 

Tsuki blinks, and pointedly bites the tip of his own tongue. 

Satisfied, Tadashi grins. 

Tadashi’s probably right. 


End file.
